


Scarlet Silk, Velvet Touch

by stfustucky (iwillpaintasongforlou)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aiden is a strong independent man who don't need no medallion, Bathing/Washing, Bottom Lambert (The Witcher), Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Embedded Images, Everything is consensual, Lambert puts his foot in his mouth a lot, Lambert the white knight, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Misunderstandings, NSFW Art, Seduction, Sensuality, Top Aiden (The Witcher), no one is actually being forced into anything, sex worker Aiden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:02:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26485357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/pseuds/stfustucky
Summary: Lambert hears tell of a seedy place where they've got a witcher tied up for anyone to fuck if they've got enough coin to pay the one who own him. And look, he's not usually into that white knight shit, but it's not like he's going to let them do that to one of his kind, alright? He swoops in to save the day... only to find out that Aiden doesn't need saving after all.(In which Aiden quits being a witcher in favor of being a whore, and Lambert reaps the benefits.)
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 275





	Scarlet Silk, Velvet Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Presenting, sex worker Aiden! This is what happens when I try to read without my glasses. I see "blah blah Aiden's whole blah blah" and think it says "Aiden's a whore" and then anyways here's 13k of Laiden porn
> 
>  **Warning:** people talking about a sexual encounter in a way that frames it as rape. No one is actually assaulted, on screen or off, but it is discussed/thought about by several characters.
> 
>  **Also warning:** NSFW images embedded! So... scroll with care.

There are a lot of people, Lambert has discovered in his years on the path, who still don't have a fucking clue how good witcher senses are.

The eyes are fairly obvious, since they look alien enough to draw attention from even the biggest morons. There are a lot of rumors about their sense of smell, too, since sometimes witchers use their noses to track monsters or men for contracts. No one ever seems to realize how much witchers can hear. Which is stupid, since if half their senses are sharp as a motherfucker, it only makes sense the other half would match, but humans are pretty much all idiots, so. That tracks. 

It still surprises him sometimes though, the stupid shit that they'll say with him in the room not thinking that he'll hear them.

"Is that the witcher?" a man was asking the serving wench as she refilled his mug with ale. He has the garb of a traveling merchant, and Lambert is planning on asking to see his wares before the end of the night. He's running low on Rednanian Herbal and it's a son of a bitch to make any of his potions without it. "The one who took the contract on those little beasties in the woods?"

"O' course tha's the witcher," another man says with a snort. "How many other folks you know 'as goes around wif cat eyes and two bloody swords, as if one weren't enough be gettin' the job done?"

"Oh, to hell with you," the merchant scoffs. "I can't see him that well from over here. And he doesn't look like the other witcher I've seen."

"You've seen another? Really? This one's the only one who ever travels this way, I've never seen another," remarks the serving girl, caught up in the conversation in spite of herself. Lambert wishes she wouldn't; his mug is about to be empty. He wants to tell her to drop the pitcher off at his table first if she's going to spend all night gossiping about him. It'd only be fair. "I suppose you see all kinds of folks on your travel, though."

"Oh, the tales I could tell you, lass," the merchant says. "Not only have I  _ seen _ another witcher, I've  _ had _ one."

That's a surprising turn of events, Lambert muses as he pops the last few beans from his supper into his mouth. Not the idea of a witcher having sex --they're sterile, not celibate-- but that someone of his guild might have had sex with someone like  _ that. _ Witchers tended to take lovers who were long-lived like themselves, or else get their rocks off with whores. It's got to be a tall tale, for this loudmouthed traveler to be claiming to have bedded a witcher.

He isn't alone in his opinion. "Yer full o' shite," the second man says at once. "What witcher would take a bloke like you into his bed? An' even if he were as dumb as all tha', I hear they don' have nothin' to speak of down there. Take off their trousers an' there's naught but blank skin. Smooth as can be. Sexless beasts, witchers."

Lambert rolls his eyes so hard he thinks they might fall out of his fuckin' skull. Sexless? Really? This backwater bozo clearly hasn't put much thought into the fact that witchers start out as humans. He's yet to meet a human with  _ nothing _ between their legs. Not to mention, how would someone take a piss without some kind of... something.

Luckily, someone seems to have more sense in the conversation, which saves Lambert the trouble of walking over and dropping his trousers just to prove a point. "Not at all, my friend," argues the merchant. "No, they have anything you and I might have between our legs. And as far as why I found myself in bed with him..." He's murmuring now, leaning in, with all the drama and mysticism of a bard. "Tell me, kind sir, dear lady, can you keep a secret?"

The barmaid drops into a chair at the merchant's table and leans forward on her hands, and Lambert despairs on ever getting a refill. "I won't tell a soul," she breathes.

"Yeah, alrigh', secret's safe wif me," the other man agrees. 

The next part is said so quietly that without his enhanced hearing, Lambert doubts he would have been able to hear it even from the next table, let alone from across the room. Luckily he has sharper senses than that, because he certainly doesn't want to miss what comes next. "You see," says the merchant conspiratorially, "this witcher didn't get much of a say as to who took him, if you catch my meaning."

Lambert sees red in an instant. He can't possibly mean--

"It was at a brothel outside of Oxenfurt," the speaker continues, voice still hushed. "I was traveling through, and business had been very good to me of late, so I decided to spread some of my prosperity to the local economy, as it were. So I stopped in at this lovely little establishment and talked to the Madam, told her that I'd like to partake of the finest wares she had to offer. She asked me do I prefer a cock or a cunt, and I told her I'm not too bothered, so long as there's a warm hole to fuck."

"Hear, hear," toasts the second man.

"So she told me, 'If that's the case, I have something I think you'll enjoy. A beast few men can claim to have bested, and one even fewer men have as a notch on their bedposts. A witcher, a real one, all trussed up and ready for me to fuck. Charged me 500 crowns, up front, but my curiosity was well piqued by this point. And well, what's a fat purse for, if not for buying adventures?"

"Sweet Melitele," breathes the girl, eyes wide. "500 crowns. I've never seen that much coin in my life!"

"And worth every bit of it," confirms the merchant. "I'm sure they went to great expense to acquire the creature. I was scared, I don't mind telling you. Any man would be, following her to the back room and knowing some mutant freak was waiting for me. A man like that could probably break me in half if he wanted to. But I couldn't pass up an opportunity like that, so I followed her, alright, just as brave as you like. And when I got there... he was all tied up to the bed, pretty as a picture, just waiting for the next man to come along and fuck him."

The wooden mug in Lambert's hand creaks dangerously as his grip tightens with fury. This is rape that this man is describing, and kidnapping besides. Someone had hunted some witcher down and captured him, and has him held against his will in the back room of some backwater brothel. They were allowing men like this pile of horse crap over here pay for the opportunity to rape a man being held against his will. Someone from Lambert's own guild.

"Wha' was it like, then?" the man asks the trader with a sneer. "Don' get shy wif us now, man."

The merchant leans back in his chair with a smug expression, shrugging his shoulder as he picks up his ale once more. "A hole's a hole, at the end of the day. I will tell you that he didn't even struggle, not a bit. Just laid there and took it like a little bitch."

Lambert's out of his seat and moving before he realizes he's decided to move. It takes him only a few seconds to cross the half-empty tavern to the trio's table, and only another second after that to carry the trader to the nearest wall and slam him against it, hands fisted in the front of his shirt to hold him in place. "Hey fucker, you got a name?" he snarls, baring his teeth.

"Oz--Ozell," the man stutters, terror clear in his face. Fucking  _ good. _ "Please, sir, I've no quarrel with you--"

Ignoring that, Lambert gives his victim a shake. "Hey Ozell, I'm Lambert. I'm the guy who's going to put your fucking head through this wall if you don't answer every fuckin' question I ask you. Understand?"

"Please, I don't--"

_ "Do you understand?" _

"Yes! Yes, I understand! Please--"

"This brothel you were talking about," Lambert begins, voice a growl. "Don't look so fuckin' surprised, you think I can't hear you, whoreson? The brothel, where was it?"

"Outside of Oxenfurt, sir!"

Lambert shakes him again, so that the back of his head cracks against the wall a little. "Cities have four sides, idiot,  _ be specific." _

"East! It was t-to the East!"

"The witcher, he have a medallion?"

"A med-- medallion?"

"Stop being slow, because my patience is fuckin' thin tonight, Ozell," Lambert scowls. He picks up his own medallion off of his chest and waves it at the man. "A medallion, like this one. Woulda had one. What did it look like?"

The trader nods, frantically. "Yes! Yes, it was-- it looked like a cat!"

So not one of his brothers, then, Lambert notes with relief. If he'd gone there and found Geralt or Eskel being abused like that... Still, the Feline school are still cousins, if not quite brothers. They still deserve better than what this shitbag has described. 

"One more question for you. You got a wife, Ozell?"

"Yes sir, I do, back in Novigrad. I'm on my way to see her now, she--"

Lambert doesn't get to hear any more about the man's wife, because his words have turned into a primal howl of agony all of a sudden. Probably because Lambert just kneed him so hard in the crotch that he'll never be able to rape anyone again now that he has a 90-degree angle in his prick. "Tell her I said sorry about all the kids you'll never have, then," Lambert tells the sobbing man, watching him slide down to the floor as soon as Lambert lets him go. When he leans in to cut the strings of the merchant's purse to liberate his coin from him, he makes sure to accidentally step on his crotch, too. Just for good measure. "And also that I'm sorry she married you."

Turning on his heel, Lambert stomps over to the table the merchant had been sitting at, where the two rapt members of his audience are now sitting wide eyed and terrified. Lambert shakes a few coins out of the purse and tosses them on the table. "For his meal and mine," he says icily, looking at the serving girl. Not the establishment's fault the guy is a dick. His tab should at least be settled before Lambert takes the rest of his coin to Oxenfurt to compensate his victim.

"Yes sir, thank you master witcher," the girl says shakily. "Please, we meant no offense--"

"Yeah, well, I'm fuckin' offended anyways," Lambert snaps. "Next time you hear about someone doing something fucked up to another human being, how about calling them on their bullshit instead of asking for details?"

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, before he decides to add some emphasis to his lesson about respecting the bodily autonomy of others. Not that they don't deserve it; they  _ surely _ could benefit from a few solid knocks to the skull. He doesn't have time for that, though. It's a long ride to Oxenfurt, and Lambert doesn't have a minute to spare.

He's got a witcher to save.

..................... 

As it turns out, there are a shit ton of brothels in the general direction of 'East of Oxenfurt.' Why does one city and its surrounding shithole farmlands need so many goddamn brothels? These people need some fuckin' girlfriends or something, it's ridiculous. Lambert has already stopped in five to search for the witcher, with no luck. Not to mention the Madams look terrified when he bursts in demanding to see their witcher, and then they keep calling the guards, and then it just gets awkward.

He's resorted to asking every traveler he meets on the road if they've heard of a brothel that has a witcher in it, which isn't gaining him any popularity points. One lady had been brave enough to smack him for saying the word "whore" in front of her kids, which was probably fair. Another couple he'd passed probably had Lambert to thank for the end of their marriage, since Lambert stopped them to ask about brothels and the husband had given a recommendation, which seemed to piss off his wife. Whatever, not his problem.

After half a dozen unhelpful strangers, finally Lambert found one who seemed to know what he was talking about. "I've never been there myself," he said conspiratorially, "but I've heard tell. It's called the Coal Mine, down this road a ways, with a red sign above the door. I hear they've got a witcher in there who you can spend some time with, but only if your purse is fat, see."

Lambert tosses him a coin for his troubles, then spurs his horse faster down the dusty road. The sun is setting, which means soon the traffic through the brothel will likely be picking up, and that's the last thing he needs. After the reception he got at the last few places, he's decided that the only chance he has of getting the other witcher out alive is to go in using stealth. Pretend to be a customer, go in and free the captive, then sneak him out. If it comes to bloodhsed, he'll risk innocent sex workers and clients in the crossfire, and he'd rather not go there if he can help it.

It isn't long before he spots the building, and Lambert detours off the road, taking his horse into the nearby woods and securing it well out of sight but not too far from the back of the brothel. He reluctantly loses his swords and crossbow, leaving them with his mount. It's shitty, going into a situation he knows is going to be garbage without even the comfort of his weapons, but no brothel worth its salt would let him walk in there armed, and he'd rather leave them here than in the hands of people he might have to fight his way out past. 

He leaves the daggers in his boots, though, small and slender enough that they'll escape notice unless he's strip-searched. They aren't mastercrafted swords, but they're sturdy little blades that'll have no problem slashing through some throats if need be. Between those, his fists, and what Eskel would describe as his "years of repressed emotions bottled up and manifested as rage problems," he should be able to defend himself and his target against whatever stands against them. Or at least fuck some shit up before he dies.

Even unarmed, he can smell the fear in the room spike when he first enters the brothel. There's a little lobby-like area with couches and pillows all around, women and men in various states of undress lounging around to show off their goods. There are customers, too, with drinks in their hands and whores in their laps, either waiting for their turn or being fluffed up before the main event. Lambert has time to notice that none of the employees are the ones who smell like fear --which figures, since the fuckers have one of his kind in chains already-- before his field of vision is filled with an elegant woman in a floor length gown.

"Good evening," she says smoothly, giving him a winning smile. "Welcome to the Coal Mine. What kind of diamond are you looking for tonight?"

Lambert is really not a good enough fuckin' actor for this shit, because his first instinct is that he wants to stab her a little bit. Honestly it's probably a good thing that he doesn't have his swords on him. "Something special," he grits out instead.

"All of our lovely entertainers will treat you to a special experience, I assure you," she answers, sweeping her arm across the room. "If you like your ladies sweet, Modesta will show you a charming time. Or perhaps you like a woman with more fire? Santina has a firm touch that you may find to your liking. Or perhaps a male companion? Laun cuts a striking figure--"

"A witcher," Lambert interrupts, impatient. "I hear you have a witcher. I want him."

The Madam's eyebrows shoot up. "You want... a witcher?"

"That's what I said. There a problem with that?"

"No, of course not, a man's tastes are his own business," she hurries to say. Her tone finishes,  _ and your coin is as good as any.  _ "Such tastes, however, are not cheap. Should you wish to spend time with our finest jewel, it will cost you, sir. Six hundred crowns."

Of course she's upcharging him, what else is fuckin' new. Luckily, the merchant's purse was nice and fat, more than heavy enough to cover the fee. "Yeah, whatever, I can pay."

She looks skeptical, but nods nonetheless. "I'm sure the witcher Aiden will be exactly to your liking, in that case. If you wouldn't mind waiting here, I'll go make certain he's ready for you, hmm? Linette will make sure your coin is in order."

It kills Lambert to hand over that much coin to a bunch of criminals, but he does it while fantasizing about coming back once this other witcher --Aiden-- is safe and robbing them blind of their dirty money, and that helps. She counts his coins and he scans the room, casing the building for his imminent escape. There's a back door that he’d seen from the outside, probably down that hallway, and a carpeted staircase off to one side that leads to the second floor of the house. There are three guards, all lazy looking sons of bitches, some low-class hired swords that probably couldn't protect these workers from a fuckin' mouse. If it comes down to bloodshed, Lambert could take them out with his eyes closed.

It's with confidence that he follows the Madam when she returns for him, only frowning a little when she takes him up the stairs. That's an extra complication; he'll have to either hope for a window in the room or try to sneak Aiden down the stairs and through a lobby full of people. Not  _ impossible _ \--a little Igni to the drapes, a little Axii for anyone who looks at him funny-- but not ideal either. Whatever, he'll make it work. The upstairs is a long corridor with many doors off of it, all of which are only barely muffling the predictable noises of fat farmers huffing and puffing on top of girls who look nothing like their wives. Only the last door, the one he's led to, contains silence within except for a single, slow heartbeat.

He isn't quite ready for what he sees when she opens the door for him, though. The room is fairly unremarkable for a brothel, at least an upscale one; there’s a bed with a bunch of pillows, a vanity with some perfume and shit, and one of those screen things that hides one corner of the room from view. Lambert spares a few seconds to scan it for threats before settling his eyes on the man in the bed. 

He'd been so busy preparing for battle that he'd forgotten to brace himself for this, and he can't help the sharp breath he sucks in at the sight before him. Aiden has dark olive skin and the unmistakable, trademark yellow cat eyes of a witcher, his shoulder length curls black as night. He's laid out on the bed on his back, just as the merchant had described the other night, his hands bound above his head and fastened to the headboard with ropes dyed a bright, striking red. The rest of his body is bare except for a pair of red silk shorts that hug his hips and thighs, the edges adorned with delicate red lace.

Lambert can't remove his eyes from Aiden's mouth, in which the bastards have stuffed with his Feline medallion like some sick gag. Lambert sees that, and everything inside of him goes cold as ice in a heartbeat.

Yeah, there's no way he's leaving this place without killing  _ someone. _

"Is he to your liking, sir?" The Madam asks Lambert, snapping him out of his haze of anger. He looks at her, then back at Aiden, whose brow is now furrowed, and tries desperately to refocus on his mission. Stealth. Undercover. Get Aiden out. Come back and murder every fucker who had a part in this. Lies now, bloodlust later.

"Yeah, I-- very nice," Lambert chokes out, nodding his head harshly. "You can go."

If the woman finds anything unusual about being so harshly dismissed, she doesn't protest. She just gives the two men one last, long look before closing the door behind her on the way out with a serene, "Enjoy your evening."

As soon as the door is shut, Lambert is in action. "Stay quiet," he hisses, quieter than a whisper, knowing that a witcher will hear him just fine. He reaches the bed and kneels on it next to Aiden, hooking his thumb into the man's jaw and pulling it open wider so that he can ease the cat's head medallion from between his teeth. It barely hits the witcher's chest before Lambert is reaching down into the side of his boot and drawing one of his daggers, twirling it in his palm so that he can get the best angle for cutting those damned ropes free.

Except that he doesn't get a chance to do anything of the sort, because in the next instant Lambert is on the floor, flat on his back, down a dagger with a very angry looking Aiden on top of him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Aiden hisses at him, shifting his weight slightly, and oh, there's Lambert's dagger. He couldn't see it before on account of being held to his own throat.

Normally Lambert would be a lot quicker to handle a situation like this, but it's hard to think about tactical maneuvers when you're busy being more fucking confused than you ever have in your life. "How did you-- how the  _ fuck _ did you get free?" he asks, bewildered, looking between Aiden and the bed he used to occupy. The knife nicks the skin of his throat a bit, but he doesn't give a shit. "You were just-- and now you're-- what the  _ fuck?" _

Aiden snorts, rolling his eyes in a way that cuts through Lambert's confusion a little bit mostly because it pisses him off. "It's a good thing you're cute, isn't it?" Aiden remarks, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow. "Do you ever use your eyes, I wonder? They're for show, not for actually keeping me restrained. I scored them halfway through so that I could break out of them in a hurry in case of emergencies."

"Emergencies?" Lambert will someday get back his ability to speak actual sentences. Hopefully. 

"Yeah, like pricks with knives jumping on top of me," Aiden fires back, his scowl fierce. "Those were my favorite ropes, by the way. Now I'll have to use the blue ones, and they look fucking terrible with my skin. So I hope you're really happy with yourself."

This whole thing is getting more and more bizarre with every passing second. "But why-- why are you tied up with fake ropes? And where did you get a knife to score them with? Why would they kidnap you and then give you  _ weapons?" _

Now Aiden looks confused, sitting back a bit and crossing his arms over his chest. It's only then that Lambert realizes he's been relieved of his other knife, too, and when the  _ fuck _ had that happened? Both weapons look perfectly at home in Aiden's slender hands. "Kidnap? You think I was kidnapped?"

"Well, obviously, yeah," Lambert says, though he's less and less sure by the second. "There was some guy in a tavern who was talking about a brothel where they had a witcher all tied up and you could pay your coin and go in and fuck him. So I figured, I'm not going to just let some witcher get... you know, raped. So I came to... save you."

His words wither by the end, losing steam under the scathing look that Aiden is giving him. "Here to save me, huh? My white knight? Yeah, you're lookin' real heroic down there pinned to the floor at knifepoint."

"Technically I'm not at knifepoint anymore," Lambert feels compelled to point out. "And I could totally throw you off right now, if I wanted to. So fuck you."

"Fucking me was the whole idea, before you got weird and started pulling out knives," Aiden says with another huff of laughter, shifting his weight back until he's standing overtop of Lambert in one smooth motion. He leans down and offers a hand to help him stand. "Look, you seem like a simple pup, so let me spell it out for you very slowly. I'm here by choice."

"Choice," echoes Lambert, taking the offered hand because he's too bewildered still to refuse the help. "You're here... tied to a bed... in a brothel... by choice?"

"Yeah, imagine that, someone in a bed in a brothel who you can pay coin to fuck. What a wild concept that's apparently incredibly difficult to understand," Aiden answers drily. "You know that's the entire point of brothels, right? I'm a whore. People come and pay coin and have sex with me."

"But you're a  _ witcher," _ Lambert informs him, because apparently the guy doesn't know what his own job is. "You fight monsters. You take contracts and travel the Path. You don't whore yourself out."

Aiden's face gets tight with anger then, and Lambert feels a little tingle of apprehension as he remembers how fucking crazy the entire Cat school is. "First of all, no one gets to say what I do or don't do with my body, you prick, so you can take any opinions you have about that and shove them right up your pretty little asshole," he snarls. 

"Whoa, wait," Lambert says, hands raised, quailing under Aiden's fury. "I didn't mean it like that, I just--"

"And second of all," the man continues as if Lambert's voice was no more than the buzzing of a fly, "I  _ used _ to be a witcher. I'm retired now. I decided I didn't want to do that anymore, so I didn't."

"But  _ why?" _ Lambert can't stop himself from asking it, even though he knows that he is playing with some serious fire right now. "Why would you choose to do  _ this?" _

"Why would anyone choose to do  _ that?" _ Aiden fires back, poking one of the daggers in his hands at Lambert's wolf medallion, the two metals scraping eerily against each other. "Back when I was a witcher, I would spend my whole life on the road, traveling around, getting spit and cursed at by people who thought I was a freak. Fighting monsters, constantly getting hurt, always in pain, only to go back to the shitty town that hired me and get cheated by some asshole who didn't think my time and my life was worth their coin. A shitty meal, a shitty mug of ale --maybe, if they'd even serve me-- and then back on the road again, to go to another shitty town and do it all again. Well  _ fuck _ that. Who would choose that?"

"No one chooses it, but that's what we are," argues Lambert, exasperated. "We're witchers. They fuckin made us this way, and that's just-- it's just what we have to do now."

"Says who? Says a bunch of old dudes who collected little kids like Gwent cards, tortured them, and set them loose on the world? The old men are dead, we're in charge now." Aiden draws himself up straighter, shoulders back, pride in every line of him. "If I can choose between the life of a witcher or one where I get to lay back on a bed with silk sheets and get paid  _ good goddamn money _ to have sex, I'll choose this life any day."

"The way that man talked about you, it was sick," Lambert says, quieter now, his anger paling in front of Aiden's. A different kind of anger, a confusing kind, one that made his head spin. "He liked it, he bragged about it. Like you were some trophy that he stuck his cock in and now he was a better man for it. That's fucked up."

"So what if some fuckers get off on thinking that they're overpowering me? They can get their rocks off however they want," Aiden snorts, tossing the daggers on a nearby vanity at last and then following them with the medallion that he pulls over his head and throws down as well. He leans against the little table so he can wave his hands dismissively to clear Lambert's protests from the air. "I don't give a shit what they think when they're fucking me. At least here they usually know better than to say it out loud, to my face. And anyways, who cares what they think of me when they've just spent all their life's savings on the opportunity to spend an hour in my bed? That's power, right there. They don't have to know it for it to be true."

Lambert has to sit down to take that in. Who the fuck is this guy, to come in here and talk about choosing something other than the life they were forced into as if it were really that simple? To talk about having power over people who wanted to hurt him, and sounding so goddamn sure of himself? It can't really be that easy... can it?

Except apparently it is, because Aiden is here dressed in silk and lace with only old scars on his skin, surrounded by nice things, undeniably in control of his environment, and that's a hell of a lot better than Lambert's doing. Lambert, who has nekker guts on his boots and a stab wound on one shoulder from a bandit just this morning and exactly two friends in the world, who more or less have to be his friend because they're also pretty much family. There's only one idiot in the room, and it's not the one standing there half-naked.

"What's the matter," Aiden asks after a while, observing Lambert's silence. "Cat got your tongue?"

"I'm sorry," Lambert says, pushing the words out before they get lodged in his throat. He really hates admitting he's wrong. "I shouldn't have said shit about your choices. Makes no fuckin' difference to me who you fuck. There's nothing wrong with being a sex worker. Fuck, I love whores."

"Most everyone does," Aiden says, teeth flashing, "when it's a whore in  _ their _ bed."

"Hell of a lot more likeable than a witcher, anyways." Lambert's smile is wry. "Good for you for finding a better life. I just... never heard of a witcher who retired before."

"Yes, well, now you know," answers Aiden with a smile, spreading his arms as if to present himself. "A true pioneer. Still think I need rescuing?"

Lambert shrugs. "Doesn't look like you want to be rescued, so I guess not. Sorry for uh, you know," he waves his hand vaguely, "being a dick or whatever. I'll leave you to your work. Be safe, alright?"

He starts for the door, but Aiden is next to him quick as a flash. He catches Lambert's wrist before he makes it to the doorknob, halting his movement with a gentle touch. "You forgot your daggers, genius."

"Oh, shit. Right. I'll just-- grab those and go." Lambert is very distracted by the loose grip on his wrist, which somehow is managing to pin him in place. Forgetting weapons, fumbling over words... what the fuck is wrong with him tonight. "I'm sure you have other, uh, customers to see to."

"What's your name?"

"Uh. Lambert."

"I'm yours for the night, Lambert" Aiden answers him, voice low. He has yet to take his hand away, and neither has Lambert. "You know, she won't give you your money back. Krishna, I mean. You pay in advance, and there's a strict no refund policy."

"It, uh, wasn't exactly my coin anyways," Lambert says sheepishly. "I might have accidentally castrated one of your former clients, thinking he'd-- you know."

"Guess he won't be coming back for seconds," Aiden laughs. "Still. It's a shame, to pay so much and receive nothing in return. I've lived your life, I know how hard coin is to come by. And as expensive as a night with me is... five hundred crowns is nothing to sneeze at."

Aiden is moving in closer, little by little, and Lambert is working very hard to keep his heartbeat steady. He knows Aiden can hear it clear as day, and he doesn't need his stupid fuckin' body getting him in trouble right now. "Six hundred. You forgot the witcher upcharge."

"Oh no, there's no upcharge for witchers at the Coal Mine. These people are my friends. They would never discriminate against one of my kind." Aiden leans in to whisper in Lambert's ear, and for some goddamn reason, Lambert lets him. "The extra hundred crowns are because she could tell I'd have to work extra hard to fit a nice, thick cock like yours inside of me."

Well that's... a fuckin' thought.

Said cock definitely gives an undignified twitch in Lambert's trousers at the thought. He's standing stock still, like Aiden is the wolf and Lambert is the rabbit caught in a predator's gaze. Trying to control his heartbeat is a lost cause now. It's almost as obvious as his unsteady breaths. Aiden is very,  _ very _ close, close enough that Lambert can almost taste his skin, and it makes it very hard for him to focus on what he needs to say. "What are you trying to get at, here?"

"Trying to say you shouldn't be in such a hurry to leave. You could stay a while, let me show you my appreciation. Awful sweet of you to come rushing into town to save me, even if you were a little misguided."

"I'm not sweet," Lambert argues at once. "I'm an asshole. Everyone hates me, even the people who like me."

"Don't be stupid, of course you're sweet," Aiden laughs. His breath fans across the skin of Lambert's throat, and then his nose follows, tracing the line of Lambert's jaw, slowly, gently. "Bet you're a good boy, underneath all of that prickly bluster. Aren't you?"

Lambert shivers, but it isn't because of the words. It's because he's being nuzzled by an overgrown kitten, that's all. "Never been called a good boy before," he says derisively.

He means it as the statement of the obvious, that no one has ever called him a good boy before because he  _ isn't good, _ but Aiden seems to take it as a challenge instead. "Oh, darling pup, that's a damn shame. Is that what you want? You want me to take you apart, call you my good boy? Make you beg for it? Or should I just treat you nice and sweet instead, give you everything the world has been denying you up until now?"

He's hard. He's so fucking hard, and he takes a step back so that Aiden won't feel it where he keeps pressing them together. It doesn't work, because Aiden just reaches out almost faster than the eye can see and grabs him, spinning Lambert around until his back hits the door with a rattle. Lambert's head is spinning a little, too. "You're-- I thought-- I thought men come to fuck you, not the other way around?"

It's probably an insensitive thing to say, and Lambert realizes that somewhere way,  _ way _ back in some cobwebby corner of his mind, but Aiden just smiles and licks his lips. "Some do. Most do. But that's not all I'm good for, pup. I'm a favorite of all kinds of folks, including lonely housewives. They come to me because they want to get fucked so hard they forget all about their boring little lives. They wanna know what it's like to have a real cock inside of them for the first time in their life."

He pushes his hips forward then, grinding against Lambert's hip, and he can feel exactly what Aiden's talking about. It makes his mouth water, and it makes him shake his head. "I'm not a fucking housewife."

"Of course not," Aiden says smoothly. "You're a wolf, a fighter, strong and ferocious. I can feel how strong you are, I know what you're capable of better than anyone. Just like I know how goddamn pretty you're going to look when you fall apart for me."

"I should go," Lambert mumbles, one last ditch attempt to get control of the situation.

Aiden only smiles, like he's seen this song and dance a thousand times before "But you don't want to, do you?"

Lambert kisses him then, suddenly and with a little groan that he'd be embarrassed to make in any other moment but that doesn't fuckin' matter right now because he's busy trying to occupy the same space as Aiden. His surge is met with Aiden's, pressing him right back up against the door, one of Aiden's thighs pushing between his own so that Lambert can rut against it. He kisses Lambert back like it's a fight, and one he'd rather die than lose. He kisses Lambert like a man who's starving.

It's all too much, and it's moving too fast, and for a moment Lambert isn't quite sure which way is up or down. Maybe that's why Aiden pulls back for a minute, looks him over, gives him an out. "If you really want to go, then go. I won't stop you. I can talk to Krishna for you, convince her to give back your coin."

Why the fuck is he running his mouth when he could be using it to kiss Lambert more? "Wouldn't want you to lose out on coin," he deflects. "Guess I'd better stay."

He tries to capture Aiden's mouth again, but is stopped by a strong hand gripping his jaw. "Look at me," Aiden says lowly, and Lambert does, like his gaze is drawn by a magnet. "If you decide to stay, pup, I'm going to fuck you so good you won't be able to ride out of this town tomorrow morning. Understand? So make a choice now. Do you want to stay, or do you want to go?"

There has been one other time in Lambert's life when he felt like this, all zeroed in on a tiny pinprick of focus while everything else around him went a little dark around the edges. That was the time when some ass-backwards alderman had told him there was a pack of wild dogs in the woods and it had turned out to be a pack of werewolves, and Lambert had downed so many potions that he'd laid in a field of werewolf bodies for hours that night, looking up at the stars and waiting to die from toxicity. In that moment, everything had narrowed down to the next draw of breath, the next heartbeat, the thin chance he had of surviving despite the world's best efforts.

This time, however, the world is just Aiden. It's only the look on his face, and his hand on Lambert's chin, and his thigh between Lambert's legs. That's all there fuckin' is, and it's so much goddamn better than anything he's ever felt before.

"I wanna stay."

"Good boy," Aiden tells him instantly, pressing forward for a rough, messy kiss. Lambert tastes blood, just a little, not his own, and can't help but savor the taste. "Makes me so happy to hear you admit what you want, you know that? Hmm? I know how we witchers tend to be. All stoic and independent, never letting on how much we  _ want _ things. But you want this, don't you? You want me?"

"Fuck yes, want you," Lambert says at once, and since their kisses are being interrupted by all of these words anyways, he takes the opportunity to lean in and kiss at Aiden's soft, sweet-smelling shoulder. He tastes like sweat and and some sort of eucalyptus shit, the kind of oils that whores always slather themselves with to cover up the smell of sex on their skin. He notices for the first time that Aiden's scent is subtler, less cloying than any other whore he's ever come across, and that just figures. Of course he smells perfect, and tastes perfect.

It makes him want to take a bite, so he does, only to be instantly scruffed by a hand fisted in the back of his shirt and yanked back until his teeth clack together around empty air instead of soft, warm skin. "Ah, ah, can't have you leaving marks, pup," Aiden says, and his expression is a little regretful when he says it. "Prime merchandise, remember? I heal fast, but you've got a wolf's bite. Nothing that won't be gone by morning, or I'll have to put you out. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Lambert says, without even thinking, and immediately hates himself for it. "I mean-- yeah I fuckin' get it."

The pathetic attempt to cover up his own words makes Aiden laugh-- not cruelly, but with something akin to delight. "Oh, aren't you just the sweetest? Don't worry, I won't make you call me that. I don't want to tame you completely. I like all your sharp edges."

Lambert doesn't have anything to say to that, so he just grunts a bit. "So, you gonna... you said you'd--- what happens now?" Great, now he sounds like a fuckin' virgin.

Luckily Aiden doesn't make fun of him for that, either. Instead, he's sliding down Lambert's body until his knees hit the floor, nosing at Lambert's vulnerable belly while his hands find the strings of his trousers and start unlacing. "Now I'm going to suck your cock, and you're going to come down my throat," he informs Lambert. It isn't a question. Lambert's answer would have been yes, anyways.

"I wanna come on your cock," he finds himself saying, hands reaching out to run his hands through Aiden's hair. It's soft, so fucking soft, like all he does is sit around all day and brush it. Maybe he does, just so that stupid saps like Lambert can come give him all their coin just to be able to touch it. "I want you to be inside me when I-- you know."

"I was planning on it," Aiden says calmly. He's got Lambert's cock out now, wrapped in one of his hands, starting to stroke it gently. He doesn't have sword callouses on his hands anymore, and it makes Lambert whine, just a little, to feel how smooth the glide is compared to his own hand. "I don't know what they do to their boys in Kaer Morhen, but I know  _ my _ mutations give me at least two rounds before I start getting tired. Think you've got two in you, pup?"

"Yeah." Aiden could have asked for twenty and he still would have said yes and given it a fuckin' go, if there was even a slim chance it would keep those hands on him. "I can do two."

"Then I want you to come for me once like this, so we can take the edge off for you. I intend to have fun with you tonight, and while I'm  _ definitely _ enjoying myself already--" he pauses his speech to lift Lambert's cock up and lick a stripe up the underside, from the balls to the leaking tip, "--I'd like it even more if you didn't spill yourself the moment you have my cock inside of you. That sound alright to you?"

It sounds more than just  _ alright, _ but Lambert feels the need to fight the words anyways, to defend himself against the slight inherent in Aiden's words. "I'm not a virgin," he says, echoing his own earlier thoughts. "I've fucked, and I've been fucked. I'm not gonna blow my load like some teenager. I'm better than that."

"I know you are, my wolf," Aiden assures him, his smile bright and winning as he rolls Lambert's balls in his hand and looks up the length of Lambert's body to meet his gaze. "I don't mean to say that you're anything less than perfect. But I did say that I was going to give you the fuck of your life, didn't I?"

Gods, Lambert really fuckin' hopes that's not an empty threat. "You're cocky," he answers instead.

"I prefer to call it professional pride."

Whatever Aiden calls it, he puts his money where his mouth is a second later. Or puts his mouth where Lambert's money is. Whatever, it feels really good and makes Lambert shut right the hell up when Aiden starts bobbing his head on his cock. He feels perfectly tight, his hollowed cheeks rubbing the sides of Lambert's prick just right with every motion. It figures that he'd be good at this, since it's his goddamn job, but Lambert still wasn't prepared for this. The kind of mouth Aiden has on him is a born gift, not an acquired skill.

There's something he's doing with his tongue, too, some sort of flexing every now and again that makes Lambert's left knee wobble like it's thinking of giving way. It's probably a good thing that Aiden has his hands at Lambert's hips, holding him firmly, pressed into the door behind him with unyielding pressure. Lambert has never been with someone who was strong enough to hold him up like that, to put him where they want him and  _ keep _ him there, and it makes him feel like he's been punched in the gut by a fuckin' cyclops.

He threads the fingers of both hands through Aiden's hair now. He doesn't pull, and he certainly doesn't try to move his head for him. The last fuckin' thing he wants to do is get in the way of whatever Aiden is doing to him right now. He just lets himself feel the motion of his draws up and down Lambert's length, the gentle rhythm that's a fuckin' assault, and starts to lose himself in it. It's easy to do, when everything feels so good and he doesn't have to think about any of it. All he has to do is stand there and  _ take it, _ and it's so unbelievably goddamn good.

He loses it before too long, blows his load right down Aiden's throat, and Aiden doesn't give him shit about how little time it took. With a mouth like that, it probably happens to him a lot. He swallows it all, pulling off and licking his lips like it's sweet cream at the corner of his mouth instead of another man's cum. The sight of him makes Lambert's prick ache to be buried in his throat again already, and yeah, okay, maybe one to take the edge off wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Aiden stands up, sliding up the length of Lambert's body just as gracefully as he'd gone down, and with no less smug pride radiating from every inch of him. "Feel better?" he asks, voice all quiet and low like a goddamn purr.

"Wasn't exactly feeling bad before," mumbles Lambert.

"Hmm. And yet, not anywhere near as good as you'll be feeling in a few minutes," Aiden says with a kiss. He tastes like Lambert's cum and it should be disgusting, but Lambert slips his tongue into his mouth anyways just to taste more. After a moment, Aiden pulls back and laughs. "Bed, pup, I'm not done with you yet."

Lambert hesitates then, a little self conscious in spite of himself as he realizes the state of himself. "I don't-- you don't have to do that," he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "The blow job was really nice. Fuckin' amazing. That's-- you don't have to do anything else."

Aiden's eyebrows raise. "I thought we established that I don't do anything here that I don't absolutely want to?"

"Yeah, I just mean-- I didn't exactly come here knowing I was going to get fucked. I'm not..." Lambert trails off, trying to find a way to communicate his meaning without being forced to say the words out loud. Unfortunately Aiden doesn't seem to be able to read minds, because he just continues to look at Lambert questioningly. "It's been a while since I had a bath, alright? I'm not fuckin' clean."

It's humiliating to say, and Lambert can't even look the other man in the eye when he says it. Fuck this, fuck this whole thing, he was stupid to let his guard down here, in front of a stranger. Abruptly furious with himself for making such a rookie mistake as to think that he deserved something  _ nice, _ Lambert yanks his smallclothes and trousers up from where they've been pushed down around his thighs and turns for the door. Far be it from him to stick around and have it rubbed in his face that he's a filthy mess while Aiden is... perfect.

Once again, he's stopped before he can leave. why is this guy so fuckin' determined to make him stay? "I've got a bath," Aiden is telling him, pushing his body in between Lambert's and the door, "and we've got all night. C'mon, we can get you all nice and clean so that way I can make a mess of you. How does that sound?" Lambert doesn't answer right away, and Aiden sighs. "Look, why do you think I have a wash tub in this room, already filled and ready to go?"

"I don't fucking know," Lambert snaps, still stinging with his self-imposed embarrassment. "Because you live a nice life, where you get to be clean and smell nice and wear nice things. I get it, you're hot shit."

"I'm a whore," Aiden corrects, "and I live a whore's life. I keep a bath ready so that when a client leaves, I can wash all of the cum off of my skin. You think I don't know what it's like to be dirty?"

And now Lambert is ashamed on top of being embarrassed. He hears how it must have sounded, saying that Aiden lived a charmed life. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know." Aiden steps away, then, over towards a folding screen set up to one side. When he pushes it back, he reveals a small tub of water and a simple wooden chair next to it with clothes draped over it. Aiden pushes the clothes to the floor and casts Igni in the direction of the water, the little controlled flash of fire quickly warming the water until steam rises from the surface. That done, he leans on the back of the chair and looks at Lambert, not unkindly. "If you want to leave, you can leave," he says, giving Lambert another out. "Or you can stay, and you can get as clean as you like. Even if you just want to take a bath and then go, you could do that, too. But either way, you should have the chance to get clean and comfortable before you go. You deserve to feel good."

The bath is tempting. Baths in inns cost coin, and coin is hard to come by, and this one is being offered to him for free. Not to mention that Aiden is tempting, leaning all casually still in nothing but those little red silk shorts, which Lambert can now see a little wet spot on the front of, right at the tip of Aiden's cock. It would be a damn shame to leave here without knowing what he tastes like...

"Why?" he asks, dragging his eyes up to Aiden's face so he can watch him answer.

"Why what?"

"Why do you think I deserve nice things? You don't fuckin' know me."

Aiden softens at that, and saddens just a little. "I don't have to know you to know that you deserve nice things, pup. You're a person, and that means you deserve to be treated like one. Simple as that."

Sounds pretty fuckin' complicated to Lambert, but he doesn't argue the point. Instead he just starts walking over, one step at a time, and plops down heavily in the chair when Aiden gestures to it. "You always baby your clients like this?"

"This isn't being babied, Lambert, it's being shown respect," Aiden huffs with a laugh. "Now hush, let me help you."

He goes down to his knees in front of Lambert and starts unlacing his boots, and Lambert is too surprised to fight it. It's... weird. Too intimate. Which is also a weird thing to think, considering he was swallowing Lambert's cock like 3 minutes ago, but it's true. This is a different kind of vulnerability, to see his dirty boot in Aiden's lap, being tended to carefully. He feels another wave of self-consciousness at the sight, and he clears his throat. "I can--"

"Nekker guts," Aiden interrupts him, inspecting the boot he's just removed before setting it aside and starting work on the other. "I hate those bastards. Every time you're about to kill one they go burrowing away. And the stink, ugh."

"Yeah," Lambert says, and talking about it like this makes it feel a little better even if that's stupid. It's easier, when someone knows what it's like. "I just bomb the fuckers and be done with it. It works well if you use--"

"Northern Wind," Aiden hums. "Yeah, that does a tidy job. I bet you took care of that problem without even breaking a sweat, didn't you?"

He's doing the thing again, saying nice shit about Lambert for no reason, so Lambert just ignores him and lifts his hips a little so that his trousers and smallclothes can be slid down his legs and cast aside. Aiden stands and pulls off his shirt, too, and suddenly Lambert is naked and looking up at Aiden feeling disoriented and a little exposed. He sits very still as Aiden steps closer, cradling Lambert's head in his hands and pulling him in so Lambert's head rests on his smooth stomach.

"Do you want help or do you want privacy, pup?" Aiden asks quietly. Lambert's about to answer that he doesn't need help taking a fucking bath, but Aiden must see the argument on his face. "Let me rephrase, you want me to leave, or stay?"

"I don't care," Lambert says. "Doesn't matter."

Aiden, the bastard, actually calls his bluff. "Great, I'll be in bed. Let me know when you're done."

He starts to walk away, back toward the bed, and Lambert reaches out to catch him by the wrist before he can get very far. "Wait," he says, and he refuses to admit that it sounds like a whine. "I mean, you can stay. I don't care. Alright, I-- I  _ want _ you to stay, okay?" he finally bites out when Aiden just looks at him archly. "There, I said it. Are you happy now?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," Aiden tells him, leaning in for a kiss and squeezing the back of Lambert's neck for good measure. "Alright then, pup, in the tub. Let's get your fur all nice and clean, yeah?"

That's how Lambert winds up sitting in the little wash tub, looking up at Aiden in bewilderment as the man fuckin'  _ washes _ him. He does it like it's nothing, like it's totally normal for some filthy client to come in and want to get fucked and need to be scrubbed down first. Of course, Lambert's pretending, too. He's pretending that it's normal for him to be sitting there, tame and quiet, while another man washes his hair. He should be fighting, pushing Aiden off, especially when he tells Lambert to turn around and starts washing his back. 

This is how witchers wind up dead, by turning their back to threats. Lambert should tell him to go fuck himself. Instead, he folds his arms on the edge of the tub and lays his head on them, sitting there on his knees in the shallow water, and just melts under Aiden's touch.

"Oh, aren't you sweet," Aiden says appreciatively, rubbing the washcloth over the jagged, broken skin of Lambert's heavily scarred back with the washcloth and then following the motion with his palm. "You're all bark and no bite, you know that? You want to howl and snap your teeth at me so that you look fierce, but you're so good for me. I love it."

"Yeah?" Lambert asks, wanting to hear more. It feels... nice. Even if it's lies.

"Mmhmm. You think I don't know how special this is, little wolf? I'm no fool, I know a gift when I see one." The washcloth slides lower, down beneath the surface of the water, and Lambert spreads his legs a little more so that Aiden can reach all of him. The soapy fabric is just rough enough to give the good kind of friction as it rubs across Lambert's hole, gently. "You're a treat, darling. So sweet for me."

"Not... usually," Lambert mumbles, closing his eyes and just enjoying the feeling. The washcloth is gone and Aiden's fingers are at his hole now, trying to nudge gently inside. "Don't like to be... like this."

"I don't think that's true," Aiden says, the hand that's not fingering Lambert open coming up to massage at the back of his neck. "I think you like it very much. I just don't imagine there are many people who get to see you relax, are there?"

"Can't relax," Lambert says. He's boneless, two of Aiden's fingers inside of him, half hanging out of the tub like a rag doll. "You relax, you die."

Aiden turns his wrist a little and crooks his fingers, brushing against that hotspot inside of Lambert just for a moment as he scissors his fingers apart. Then he does it again, and again, until Lambert's cock is hard again beneath the water. "Not here. I make the rules here, and I say it's safe for you to relax."

"Never safe," Lambert says, no matter how much he wishes it weren't true.

"It's safe with me," replies Aiden, more firmly this time, working in a third fingertip and shushing Lambert when he groans at the stretch. "I wouldn't let anything hurt my pup, now would I? Hmm?"

Lambert is panting now, rocking back on Aiden's fingers, and he feels dazed again, like he's drunk but only on words. He tries to sit up, maybe to seek a kiss, but Aiden has him held firm with that hand at the back of his neck. It presses him down, keeps him in place, and that only makes him harder. "Aiden, please," he rasps.

"Please what?"

"I don't know, just-- come on,  _ please.  _ I'm using my fucking manners, you bastard, can't you just--"

The fingers inside of him withdraw in a flash and then he's being hauled into a more upright kneel so that his arse is above the surface of the water and Aiden's hand can come cracking down on it in a harsh slap. Then he's full of fingers again, pressing down on his prostate, and the hand at the back of his neck has moved to the front to hold him by his throat. Aiden leans in close, presses their cheeks together so he can whisper in Lambert's ear, "You want to try that again, with less attitude, pup?"

This is hot, it's so fucking hot that Lambert's vision goes a little hazy and he feels like he could come on the spot if Aiden told him to. It takes him a solid few seconds to remember where his tongue is and how to make it work. "Fuck you," he says defiantly, a long moment later.

He can feel Aiden's smile against his cheek. "I thought we agreed that isn't what you need tonight?" Lambert's whole body shivers, and Aiden's breath ghosts across his ear lobe when he laughs. "I'm not going to give you anything until you ask for it, though, darling, so go on. What do you want? And don't forget those manners you were bragging about, either."

"Kiss me, please?" Lambert asks helplessly, because Aiden's mouth is so close and yet so goddamn far away.

"Can't say no to that," Aiden croons, using his grip on Lambert's throat to turn his head so that Aiden can capture his lips in a kiss. He kisses slow this time, gentle, like he's trying to coax something out of Lambert. Lambert isn't sure what the hell he could possibly have to give, but whatever it is, Aiden is welcome to it. "Anything else you want, pup? Whatever you want, it's yours. You only have to ask."

That's the moment when Lambert gives in, because as utterly willing as he is to cave underneath Aiden's will, he can sense in the air that Aiden is willing to do the same. It doesn't matter that he's the one with a hand wrapped around his throat, being made to beg for the first time in his life. Somehow, he's the one with power here. Aiden is only taking the reins that Lambert gave him and is steering this horse exactly where Lambert wants to go. 

And for once, Lambert doesn't have to be in control.

He sags in Aiden's grip, then, all resistance gone, relishing the way his hole suddenly feels fuller and the grip under his jaw tighter with his surrender. "Fuck me, please, Aiden," he croaks, turning his face to the side to seek out Aiden like a flower turning towards the sun, even though he can't seem to keep his eyes open at the moment. "Please, I need it--"

"Shh, shh, I know you do," Aiden says at once, hands sliding across Lambert's skin until they're hooked underneath his arms instead, gently lifting up. "Thank you for telling me, sweet boy, so I can give it to you. Come on, stand up for me."

"But I want--"

"I know, and you'll get it, but I want you on the bed, yeah? A soft, pretty thing like you deserves to be taken apart on a nice soft mattress and clean sheets. Now just stand here a moment, darling, brace yourself on the wall if you need to-- there we go, that's perfect, pup."

There is a very dim part of Lambert's mind, as he stands there and lets Aiden towel him gently dry, that wants to argue that he is neither soft, nor pretty, nor perfect, but that part does not currently have access to his tongue. The thought slides off of him, or perhaps is wiped away like all of the little droplets of water that Aiden is wicking from his skin. All he can think about is Aiden's hands on him. Everything else is... not as important as that.

"On the bed now, little wolf, hands and knees for me, alright?" Aiden is murmuring somewhere behind him, and Lambert follows the instructions, a little unsteady on his feet. It's a simple order, though, and he gets there with only a few stumbles, and is rewarded with a soft hand soothing down his spine and a whispered  _ good boy. _ There are pillows on the bed, all fragrant and soft, but they disappear from Lambert's vision one by one as Aiden rearranges them beneath Lambert. He gets to keep one, with a soft red case that smells like Aiden, and Lambert is too far gone to pretend like he doesn't want to bury his face in it, or to resist the urge to do it.

"Down," Aiden tells him, one hand pressing firmly at the base of Lambert's spine, and he goes willingly. The pillows have been arranged expertly to hold him up, supporting his hips and his belly so that he doesn't even have to use a single muscle in order to lay there with his arse in the air for Aiden. "How does that feel?"

Indulgent. Luxurious. Lambert buries his face in the red pillow and inhales Aiden's scent. "'s feels nice," he mumbles, a little slurred.

"Gonna get some oil, and then I'm gonna fuck you now, just like you asked," he's informed, feeling the bed shift as Aiden moves around behind him. Lambert only spreads his legs wider. More fingers at his hole, slicked with oil this time instead of merely water, pressing in deep and teasing him open. He's too relaxed to be tense, and Aiden kisses Lambert's flank appreciatively. "You're going to feel divine on my cock, aren't you? Say it, sweetheart. Tell me you're gonna be nice and tight for me."

Lambert doesn't even flush. "Gon' be nice an' tight f'r you," he repeats dazedly. "Please?"

"Yes, pup, you've been patient enough. I've got you, I promise."

Aiden's fingers are replaced then by his cock, sliding into him inch by inch, stretching him wide and filling him up just right. Lambert finds himself panting, utterly boneless on his throne of pillows, and a warm palm comes to rest on the center of his back to ground him. He's floating, mind drifting back and forth between points of contact between him and Aiden, and everything else just fades away.

It doesn't take long before the gentle rock of Aiden's hips turns into the thorough fucking he'd promised Lambert at the beginning of the night. What had that been, a hundred years ago? Two hundred? Time isn't important anymore. What's important is the fact that when Aiden pulls his cheeks apart and snaps his hips forward, Lambert can damn near feel it in the back of his throat. His toes curl, his hands clench in the sheets, and there's a high pitched whining noise on the air that might be coming from him. 

Somewhere, vaguely, he's aware that Aiden is talking to him, and he does his best to focus in on the words "....me what you need, hmm? What's my darling pup need to hear so I can push him over the edge? You want me to tell you how perfect your warm little hole is? How pretty you look like this, all muscled and scarred and yet so gloriously relaxed for me? How much I regret not opening you up with my tongue instead, so that I could know what you taste like, there?"

Lambert shudders at the words, longing hot in his gut, which feels selfish considering that everything already feels  _ so good. _ He doesn't care, though. He wants more. He wants everything. All he can do is nod his head into the pillow and hope that Aiden understands.

"You like the sound of that, puppy? Next time, then, I promise. Next time I'll let you come on my tongue first. Maybe I'll lie back and let you ride my face, and then when you're ready, you can just shimmy down and ride my cock. Put these nice strong legs to use." A hand runs down the outside of Lambert's thigh, squeezing appreciatively at the muscle, and Lambert groans. "Or I could fuck you against the wall," Aiden says serenely, like he's planning a picnic. "Tell you to wrap your legs around my waist and fuck you so hard the whole brothel shakes."

That makes Lambert's hole clench involuntarily, and Aiden moans, the first sign he's given that he's as affected as Lambert is. "I want it," Lambert begs, "please."

"Want what, love?"

"Want all of it," groans Lambert. "Want everything. Want you."

Aiden pulls out suddenly, which is the opposite of what Lambert wants, but it's only so that he can be manhandled onto his back on the mattress. When Aiden pushes back inside, they're face to face now and Lambert can reach up and beg another kiss from Aiden's lips. "I should have guessed," Aiden murmurs in between kisses, letting Lambert take what he needs. "I asked you what you wanted earlier and the first thing out of your mouth was that you wanted a kiss. You like it better like this, don't you? Wanna see my face while I take you apart? Want me to taste all your moans? Is that what you need, pup?"

Lambert is coming before he even realizes he's close, one of his arms reaching up to wrap around Aiden's lower back, to hold him close and trap his cock between their bellies, so that when he spills his seed for the second time tonight it makes a mess of them both. "Yes," he rasps, not exactly sure what he's answering. "Yes, yes, please, Aiden."

He feels Aiden fill him up a moment later, the sensation of ten fingernails cutting into the skin of his thighs dim through the lingering haze of his own orgasm. He feels hands all over him, smoothing over every part of his body, making Lambert shiver and melt into the mattress. He feels kisses on his mouth, too slack to kiss back just yet.

The sensation of Aiden pulling out is a little bit sharper, tinged with discomfort as Lambert hisses his protest. He can feel Aiden's cum leaking out of him, which is all wrong, but Aiden just shushes him and says it'll be alright. He's getting cleaned up with a warm, damp cloth, swiping away the worst of the mess because Lambert's mouth is too slow to say that he likes it this way, and then Aiden is laying by his side and kissing his jaw and talking too soft for Lambert to understand for a few minutes.

When the words do worm their way deeper into his brain, it's all quiet words of praise about how well Lambert did for him and how good he made Aiden feel and how perfect he is. Lambert tries to snort, but the sound comes out like a sigh. It's nonsense. It's nice.

It takes a while before Lambert is fully convinced that he's back inside of his own skin again. He turns his head to look at Aiden, a little confused but mostly just... good. "Hey," he says quietly, and his voice comes out like a croak.

"Hey yourself." Aiden smiles and half rolls away, not enough to be gone from Lambert's side but enough to snag a wooden mug of water off of the nightstand. He offers it to Lambert. "Take a drink for me. How do you feel?"

Lambert drinks, limbs not quite as coordinated as usual. A little dribble escapes from one corner of his mouth, and Aiden wipes it away with his thumb. "M'good. Feel really good."

“Excellent, then I’ve done my job,” Aiden says happily, tapping Lambert’s nose once with the tip of his finger before taking the empty cup back and putting it back on the table. “Do you want another bath? I could have fresh water brought in.”

“Don’t want a bath,” Lambert tells him, and the words get interrupted by a yawn. “I want a nap.”

“So take one, pup.”

Now, outside of the heat of the moment, it makes Lambert’s face flush to be called that. He doesn’t stop Aiden either way. “I should go,” he says, for what feels like the millionth time tonight.

And, just like before, Aiden shakes his head. “Stay. You paid for the night, remember? Get a good night’s sleep in a soft bed. I  _ want _ you to stay,” he adds when he sees the hesitation still on Lambert’s face.

Hard to argue with that. Lambert closes his eyes and uses what little strength there is left in his rubbery limbs to pull Aiden on top of him. The weight of the man on his chest, pressing him down, keeping him grounded, makes him feel… safe. He shouldn’t feel safe,  _ never _ feels safe anywhere outside of the walls of Kaer Morhen. Here, with Aiden, he does.

“Like this, please?” he has the presence of mind to ask, even as he feels his draws of breath getting deeper and slower, feels himself sinking into the bed like it’s a cloud.

“Whatever you want,” Aiden tells him, pulling a fur over them both, and then Lambert doesn’t think about anything else for a good, long while.

………………… 

Morning comes quietly, slowly, reality filtering back into Lambert's consciousness piece by piece. Soft sheets. People moving softly in other parts of the building. The smell of candles burnt down to the base and snuffed out by time. A warm body wrapped in his arms, snoring gently.

They've shifted in the night, Lambert realizes when he opens his eyes and orients himself fully. They're both on their sides now, Aiden's back to Lambert's chest, with Lambert clutching the man close like he's a child's soft toy. Not that Aiden seems to mind. He's sleeping soundly, the furs thrown off of him, a sheet tangled around one leg. His hair is sticking in a thousand different directions, and there's a little spot of drool on the pillow beneath his face that Lambert can see when he props himself up on one elbow to get a better look. 

He's gorgeous.

Now, with Aiden not actively trying to disorient him at every turn, Lambert has time to look at him closer. He has a witcher's scars, so familiar to Lambert, but faded, somehow. Less harsh against his skin. The hard muscle on his body is covered by the tiniest layer of fat, something most witchers never get when they're living on the road without knowing where their next meal is coming from. It makes him softer around the edges. Lambert wants to touch, and there's nothing to stop him, so he does, gently dragging his fingertips down the curve of Aiden's waist like trying to touch the surface of water without making ripples. 

It must not have been light enough to escape the notice of a former witcher, because the man stirs anyways, wiggling a little as he wakes. "You're hot," Aiden mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Why, thank you very much," Lambert says with a grin, leaning in to nip at Aiden's shoulder. Not hard; he remembers Aiden's words from last night. "I like to think I'm quite the looker."

"Now who's the cocky one?" Aiden grumbles, but there's a smile on his face as he elbows Lambert to gain a few inches of separation between them. "What are you staring at, anyways, wolf?"

"Your scars," Lambert answers honestly, running his fingertip over one on Aiden's bicep. "They're... not as ugly as mine. They're faded. How?"

"I paid a mage handsomely for that service," Aiden tells him, rolling over onto his back so he can look Lambert in the face when he answers. "Took me a while working here to save up the coin, but it was worth it. When people come to fuck a witcher, they want to see the scars, but they're not always... prepared for the full reality. It's more palatable for them this way, I've found. You could get it done too, if you wanted. Not that I think you need it, but if you wanted to, it isn't impossible."

Lambert looks away from him then, sitting up in the bed and looking at a spot on the wall to regain his composure. His jaw feels tight in a way that it hasn't since he walked through that door last night. "Nah," he says at last when he trusts his voice to be even. "It'd take a lot more than cosmetic spells to soften me up. No good trying to pretend I'm anything more than an animal.”

Deft fingers pinch Lambert's side, right under his ribs, and that startles him enough to have him twist around to face Aiden with a yelp. He starts to protest, to ask what the hell that was for, but he's stopped by Aiden's firm grip on his jaw and his ferocious glare. "Keep talking shit about yourself and next time you come here I'll have Krishna turn you away at the door, you hear me? You're not an animal. You're a person. A good person, Lambert."

"You don't know--"

"Keep telling yourself that. I think we both know I've got your number, sweetheart."

Lambert tries to look away again, this time to hide his flush, and Aiden lets him. "Next time, huh?" he says after a moment, clearing his throat. "You think you'll see me again?"  _ You want to see me again? _

"I think I'll see you every time you pass through this part of the continent, in fact," Aiden informs him with a kiss to his shoulder. "I'm counting on it."

"Too poor for that," protests Lambert.

"I'll see if I can get you a discount," Aiden laughs, clear and bright, and it makes Lambert shiver all the way down his spine. "If you're a good boy, that is. Deal?"

Lambert knows that his grin is a little too wolfish to pass himself off as innocent when he smiles at Aiden. It doesn't matter. Aiden's is a little feral, too. "Deal."

**Author's Note:**

> Am I Laiden trash now? I think I might be Laiden trash now. Hmmmmm.
> 
> Thank you Darcy (@fenndarcy on twitter) for the AMAZING art!! We are all #blessed  
> Thanks also to eyesofshinigami and stardustlupin for the beta work!
> 
> stfustucky | tumblr  
> @stfustucky | twitter  
> Charlie Stfustucky#3055 | discord


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